Be Not Afraid
by NeueHaasGrotesk
Summary: "I just want to see him again." He doesn't look at the little boy beside him, fierce and determined despite the fact that he's barely reaching his knee. He does, however, hold on to the little hand when it slips into his. "Sure," he says, and the train pulls into the station.


It is raining the evening they arrive in the city.

The luggage bumps and rolls heavily over the gritty, uneven surface, and as they duck into the cover of one of the many office buildings around, he mourns his lack of foresight to bring with him an umbrella. Conan is silent beside him, though the boy is as thoroughly soaked through as he is. Shinichi rummages for a packet of tissues under the boy's quiet gaze, and eventually finds one stashed beneath a bottle of green tea and thankfully still dry. There aren't many people around at this odd hour, especially not in this weather, and the only noise between them is the crinkle of cheap plastic and the fall of rain against concrete ground.

"We will get there soon," he says, although it isn't clear if he is reassuring Conan or himself. The boy pulls off his spectacles and does his best to dry them on his shirt, and allows his brother to dab at his face, then at his hair with a tissue. Since it looks to be a while before the rain will let up, Shinichi digs out his phone and pulls up Google Maps, squinting against the searingly bright screen. In the distance, the traffic light changes to red, then green, and red again. He doesn't hear any vehicles on the road, but in a rain as bad as this, it isn't surprising.

"Hey."

Shinichi turns, and is confronted by a violently yellow umbrella. He yelps, backing away from the sudden closeness of it, only to have it pushed closer to his nose.

"Take it." The voice says again - low, definitely masculine. Beyond the edges of the umbrella, he can glimpse a head of dark, messy hair.

Caught between wanting to say that pointing umbrellas at people is dangerous, and declining, he makes no move whatsoever. His inaction seems to agitate the teen, and he thrusts the umbrella forward once more, nearly tapping Shinichi on the nose with the tip. " _Take it._ "

"H-hey!" Shinichi instinctively makes a grab for it, only to have the teen drop it completely. He fumbles for the umbrella, and there is a glimpse of violet eyes and lips pressed into a thin white line, before the teen is gone, running into the rain. By the time Shinichi has straightened up, he is another smudge of blurry grey in the distance.

The umbrella burns in contrast to the grey, quiet city as he opens it over their heads. He makes sure he's holding Conan's hand before they step into the freezing rain again.

His GPS and the address stamped on the key chain leads him to a grey apartment on the eighth floor. The keys jangle in his hand as he closes the door on the damp and the rain, and Conan wrings out the bottom of his shirt. The air in the apartment is dusty and stale, but the electricity works when he flips the switch for the light. He wonders how long it has been since its last occupants.

Conan toes off his shoes, and then arranges their luggage against the wall, out of the way, allowing water to drip off and form a small puddle beneath the worn wheels. The yellow umbrella joins them in the corner, and Shinichi hopes that the heater is still in working order.

"Can you run us a bath while I get the spare clothing?" he asks, and receives a nod in turn before his brother disappears down the corridor in search of the bathroom.

Conan hadn't uttered a single word since they took the train that morning.

::

The flat is bare, but they make do. Shinichi combs his fingers through Conan's downy hair, the boy a sleepy weight against him. Necessities first - bedding, pillows, laundry powder, food… He idly wonders if he should set up a phone line.

"We're heading out today," he says, when Conan stirs.

His little brother blinks up at him sleepily, then rubs at his eyes and nods, sliding his spectacles onto his face. He thinks it is about eight in the morning, judging from the position of the sun in the sky. The city wakes up slowly, lazily. It is a different pace of life from what he's used to in Tokyo, but it isn't the bad sort of different. He watches the sky gradually light up as the sun tracks it's way across the sky until Conan returns, water dampening his fringe and the line of his neck. Breakfast is onigiri and bottled water, and they eat it in companionable silence. Conan doesn't complain, but he has never been a particularly picky child. Shinichi cannot decide if it is, considering their current situation, a good thing. Children are meant to be fussy, but Conan has always been mature for his age. Next door, their neighbour's door opens, and closes again.

Later, arms laden with plastic bags, he grasps Conan's hand in his, leaving the bedding section of the departmental store and returning to the main area. Conan has been looking towards something some time after Shinichi's purchased their pillows. He thinks it is in this direction.

"Is there anything that you want?" He draws Conan's attention, leaning down. The plastic bags are beginning to cut uncomfortably into his arms.

The boy seems to think about it, and then tugs on their clasped hands, and leads him towards the escalators.

They return home with what looks like a stuffed egg toy in Conan's arms, and the place seems brighter for that one addition. The tag that is attached to it says its name is Gudetama when Shinichi snips it off with a pair of safety scissors. They cook rice in the portable rice cooker, and make their bed on the floor in the living room with the thin mattresses Shinichi bought. Gudetama lies between them, and Shinichi pillows his head on his arm, watching Conan knead the toy between inquisitive fingers in the slanting moonlight. A TV turns on in the neighbouring apartment, prerecorded laughter ringing out loudly through their shared thin walls, before their neighbour turns the volume down again. It sounds like a late night entertainment variety show, and it makes him think oddly of falling asleep on a sticky, lumpy sofa, and he isn't sure why he feels that way.

"Let's explore the city tomorrow," he suggests quietly into the space between them. The rough pillowcase makes a rasping sound when Conan shifts to look at him. Without his spectacles, his little brother seems almost like a stranger.

"Okay," Conan agrees.

::

The time and date function on his phone has malfunctioned. It is an easy task to reset it, but he simply does not bother. He checks Conan's backpack, and then lets him do the same to his own. After some random pointing, they decide to take the left turn after going past the south block.

They take a different route each morning, setting out after breakfast and always returning home before dinner. Conan is the one in charge of the map, marking out the places they've been to with a stub of pencil. It mostly consists of him being the one to decide whether to turn left or right when they've come to an intersection, and Shinichi suspects that his brother simply takes whatever direction suits his fancy instead of having actually planned anything. The only time he takes the map from Conan is when he makes his own annotations on it, whenever they pass by something that might come in important. Clinics, convenience stores, a bookshop, a vending machine. One never knows.

They watch a man fish from a canal, and Conan breaks from their path to tail a stray cat, probably around 3 P.M. Shinichi supposes he should get a job, but feels that it is alright to leave that responsibility for another day. It isn't as though they are running low on money. The card that he has with him is enough to provide for their needs and more. A few paces ahead, Conan expresses his pleasure at having discovered a cluster of wild mushrooms growing by the roadside, so he hurries to catch up.

Lately, he has the vague feeling that money isn't the thing that he is running low on.

::

They meet their neighbour on a morning, when they are getting ready to leave for another of their day trips. Today, it is the left turn by the vending machine with the graffiti. Conan has a bright orange floppy hat on his head. Shinichi doesn't remember packing anything like that.

"Good morning," Shinichi says, because he's been taught to be polite, and it is good to be a role model. If he is taken aback, he hopes it doesn't show.

Their neighbour pauses in the act of locking their door, and Shinichi sees messy black hair peeking from beneath the wide brim of the cap jammed on their head.

"Good morning," he returns, because their neighbour is male, and a teen like Shinichi. Shinichi sees all of this, before he recognizes the shade of violet nearly hidden by the shadows under the cap.

"I have your umbrella," Shinichi blurts before the teen could leave. He is polite, but has yet to fully master his communication skills, evidently.

The teen blinks. He looks different, somehow, compared to the day they met in the rain. He looks pale, as though he doesn't see much of the sun. Shinichi thinks it is only his imagination that he can smell wet concrete and smoke when it is sunny out.

"Oh, right. You can hold onto it for me." Their neighbour rubs at the back of his neck. "'s no big deal."

"Thank you. For the other day." Shinichi says, hoping to diffuse the sudden awkward tension between them. "We've only just moved in… " A week? Three days? A month? "...ah."

The teen turns back to his door. "Yeah, I know." He tugs on his cap, then pockets his keys. When Shinichi cannot see his eyes, he gets the vague feeling that his neighbour is being hostile. "If there is nothing else, please excuse me."

Conan clings to his legs, and doesn't move under the lift doors has closed on the teen's back.

"Rude man," Conan says, straightforward as ever.

"He lent us his umbrella," Shinichi reminds him.

"I was already wet in the first place," Conan says, and sometimes, Shinichi is hard pressed to fault his brother's odd logic. He loves the boy even more for it. "Let's go to the bookshop with the cat."

"We will have to thank him properly, the next time." Shinichi glances at the closed door as they pass by. Unlike their own, the nameplate on the door is blank.

::

It rains, and they stay indoors, huddled up with each other before the glass doors of the balcony. Conan is lying on his front, leafing his way through an illustrated novel with a dictionary by his side. They have slowly carved a space for themselves, as evidenced by the various mismatched cushions, miscellaneous toys and books and other knick knacks they've picked up, all of which they've left scattered around the living room. They've set up camp there, and because Shinichi's gotten used to being under the night sky when they sleep, they did not bother to relocate. Anywhere else in the house feels almost claustrophobic, and when Shinichi has to step away from the living room he finds himself often checking back in on Conan, just to make sure that he isn't alone.

Today, the weather in Tokyo will be sunny, according to his phone.

"Conan?" Shinichi leans his head against the glass. Beyond it, storm clouds gather, lightning flickering within their depths. His brother lifts his head slightly, but doesn't look away from his book.

"Do you want to go to school?" It is what he should do, at least. Conan is a smart kid. It would be a shame not to hone the intelligence that he possesses. He could probably do with a few friends, too.

Conan hums, tucking his arms beneath himself, socked feet beating a slow, quiet tempo against the floor. "I want a few plants."

"You can do the science project. Planting beans, was it?"

"I want a cactus. Something that you can't kill."

"Hey, hey… "

::

The radio cuts off within the apartment, and Shinichi is left standing in silence before the door. There are footsteps, and then the door clicks open.

"Oh. Hello." Their neighbour pushes his fringe out of his eyes, and Shinichi is glad that he seems to have caught him in a good mood today. "How may I help you?"

"Sorry, I haven't formally introduced myself. I should have done this before, but... I am Kudo Shinichi, and the little boy you saw the other day was my brother, Conan. We will be your neighbours from today. And," he holds up a cake box. "As thanks for your help the other day."

It all sounds rather stiff and rehearsed. He isn't used to being in anyone other than Conan's company lately.

The neighbour looks stunned. Then he seems to look embarrassed. "It wasn't a problem."

"I wanted to," Shinichi insists, and thrusts the cake box at him.

The neighbour looks - really looks at him this time, and something complicated flickers in his expression for a brief moment, before he leans back on his heels, a defeated smile on his face. "Fine. I accept your thanks," he says, taking the box from him. "Do you want to come in?"

"I don't want to be a bother."

"You won't be. Drop by any day, if you like. I'm Kuroba Kaito. Your neighbour."

"Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you."

::

The umbrella stands in the corner of the doorway, as bright as ever, a burning colour in the darkness. He's forgotten to return it to his neighbour again. He picks it up, and turns it over in his hands. It has gotten terribly dusty, for some reason.

He will just have to rinse it and remember to return it the next time he sees Kuroba, then.

::

"Will I be a detective when I grow up?"

"Do you want to be one?"

Conan squashes Gudetama beneath his weight as he considers. His spectacles lie folded beside him.

"I think you will be a great detective, if you want to be." Shinichi pats Conan on the head. His brother hates it when he messes up his hair, but he only grumbles for today. "But it also comes at a great price. You will have to see a lot of dead bodies, and while long exposure may numb you to it, you mustn't ever forget that it is a human life."

Conan turns his head so Shinichi's hand rests on his cheek.

"Do you regret ever becoming a detective?"

::

Gudetama is lying on its side, a bright spot of colour in the living room.

Conan isn't anywhere Shinichi's tried. The city, he feels, has never been so frightfully hostile and strange.

He had only been away for a moment. It hadn't been far, gathering laundry from the washing machine in the kitchen, but when he returned with the damp clothes in his arms, Conan was nowhere to be found in the apartment. He hadn't heard the door closing. His shoes are missing, and so is his backpack, but he is still a child and he couldn't have gone far. He nearly crumples the map in his fist when all their regular spots do not turn up Conan - he's never been good at controlling his emotions, and he knows he is letting his panic get the better of him. Places familiar to them only yield strangers, and Shinichi doesn't know whom to ask. He doesn't recognise the woman running the bookstore with the cat they usually frequent, and the newspaper all carry some sort of headline about some teenage someone. Some famous someone. He doesn't care.

Conan's missing, and he can't breathe.

The logical thing to do would be to go to the police, until he realizes that he does not have a single photo of Conan in his phone. His phone is, for lack of a better word, blank. He hasn't realised it before, but there isn't a single call in his history, or a photo, or anything other than the default applications. He cannot recall when he's lost the data, but there is a single number saved under an unknown contact.

He doesn't remember grabbing the umbrella when he had run out of the door, but it is there, solid and bright. He remembers Conan, soaked hair sticking to the nape of his neck, clear blue eyes sad behind the glass of his spectacles.

He runs, going by memory, to the office building where they had taken shelter on the first day of their arrival. Halfway there it begins to rain.

He feels like he could cry when the spot is empty and cold. He ducks in, nevertheless, fear a cold fist tight in his chest. 'Think, where could Conan be, in this weather?'

"He's gone home."

Shinichi whirls, and, like a parody of their first day, there is Kuroba, standing beside him, hands in his pockets and staring desolately out at the rain.

Before Shinichi can run out into the way back to their apartment, the teen speaks again, an immense sadness in his words.

"This is as much time as I am able to buy you," he says, determinedly looking straight ahead. "I'm sorry."

He doesn't want an apology. He wants Conan, safe and smiling in his arms. He wants to see him go to school, with his friends. He wants to watch the plants flower when Spring comes with him.

He wants to watch Conan grow up.

"Do you remember how you got here?" Kuroba turns, and Shinichi doesn't want to look at him, not when all the sadness in this city has been for him. They came from the train station, from Tokyo, from…

Gentle hands wrap around his own, and he hasn't noticed when he's gotten so cold.

There is a reason why Kuroba had seemed so familiar, after all.

Now, he knows.

{F}

Find me on tumblr. I'm 5160763. Long author's note available on there.

Also available on AO3.


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